


In a Bind

by zjofierose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Bondage, Implied Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Stress Relief, kink!bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-09
Updated: 2010-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: Adult/NC-17<br/>Relationship status: established<br/>Word count: 1013<br/>Genre: PWP<br/>Tropes: kink<br/>Warnings: bondage<br/>Summary: fills the kink!bingo prompt "bondage (wrist/ankle restraints)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Bind

**Author's Note:**

> _ETA: going through and cleaning things up slightly circa 2016 just to make things a little more formatted and readable, etc. this is still an old fic, so it's a little... yeah. BUT even though I think (hope) I'm a better writer now, I think it's worth preserving the old stuff for a variety of reasons (yes, ok, part of my day job is being an archivist, it rubs off), so I'm leaving it mostly as is._

In his dream he is too hot.

He tries to get away from the all-encompassing heat, but can’t. He begins to strip, removing his shirt, then pants, then, looking around to make sure he’s alone, his underwear. Still he roasts. He can feel the sweat begin to drip, and opens his mouth to gasp for air. He raises his arm to wipe his hand across his brow, and realizes he can’t- his hand is immobilized. He pulls at it, beginning to thrash, to panic, and wakes with a start when his head smacks against the headboard.

He grunts aloud with surprise, but when he tries to lift and hand to his wounded skull, he still can’t. He tugs sharply, but to his increasing dismay, both hands are very securely lashed down. An experimental jerk of his legs indicates that his ankles are similarly fastened. 

His first instinct is defense, and adrenaline floods his system as he contemplates the possibilities- alien abduction? No, he can still hear the thrum of the ship. Hostile take-over? No, everything is silent, he would have heard something… Mutiny? Couldn’t be; why bother to strip him before tying him… 

_Spock_.

He relaxes suddenly, beginning to laugh, his belly shaking as he chuckles. He keeps on laughing for several seconds before he is brought up short by the sensation of a hot, wet tongue on his dick, at which point he nearly chokes in the attempt to laugh and gasp at the same time. His cock is rock hard so abruptly that he feels dizzy, and concentrates on breathing through his mouth as the tongue wanders a leisurely course down his left thigh to that spot just behind his knee. His leg jerks in response as teeth bear down firmly, and he groans at the thought of the red, raw mark that will remain tomorrow.

The heat is like being in a sauna; dry, still, and excruciating. He finds he doesn’t care, because the room is still cool in comparison to the burning hands caressing his skin. Those long, supple fingers, the texture of the skin so subtly different than human flesh, such lightly insistent strength lying in hidden tendons and sleek muscles.

Spock must be naked. The room would not be so hot, otherwise, but the heat means that Spock wanted to be comfortable. Which also, now that he thinks about it, means that this is going to go on for quite some time. He groans in horrified anticipation, but his dick, the traitor, jumps at the thought.

A very quiet chuckle as an over-heated mouth finds his left nipple, and Spock has clearly figured out where his train of thought has gone. The sensation of sucking heat has his nipple tight and sensitive, and his arms pull uselessly at his bonds as the mouth moves to the other side of his chest.

He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to survive this. It’s happened before, sure, but rarely, and he’s still not sure quite how he made it through those episodes either. Maybe it’s a stress thing, or an Vulcan thing, or hell, even just a kinky Spock thing, but every few months or so he likes to ambush his sleeping human, tying him up with exacting skill and having his way with him. His extremely patient, impressively thorough, and goddamn fucking _intense_ way with him.

He manages to stay present and mostly calm for the first while; Spock massages him endlessly, pressing his strong, hot fingers into Jim’s tight and painful muscles, following every kneading stroke with his mouth. He relaxes into the pleasure, allowing the waves of arousal to flood through his body, riding his sensations on ripples of desire. When Spock licks between his fingers, he becomes a vehicle of firing neurons, bypassing any higher level of thought in favor of sensory input. When Spock gently and oh-so-slowly slides a slippery finger into him, he finds that he is not a person at all, but rather a stimulus/response being, with a reaction that is dripping onto his abdomen as it throbs. But at the sight of Spock kneeling up over him and sliding his own slicked fingers into himself, he slams back into his body with a vengeance, begging and pleading and writhing, _god, spock, yes, now, please, yes, can’t, must, want, now…_

Spock smiles patiently ( _deviously_ ) and bends to take him in his mouth, making Jim yell out in ecstasy as that skillful tongue winds its way around his shaft, blessing it with an intricate dance that has his balls tightening in a heartbeat. He cries out wordlessly, and Spock understands, pulling his mouth reluctantly away with a final lip like a benediction to his swollen head. He looks nearly regretful, and eyes Jim reprovingly where he lies gasping for breath. He must resign himself to the state of affairs quickly, however, because he rises up on his knees and slides unresistingly down onto Jim’s cock in one smooth movement that has Jim crying out at the hot solidity of him.

Jim can hear that Spock is gasping now, and he forces his eyes open to stare at his lover’s face as Spock fucks himself down onto Jim’s dick, rising up and falling down with a graceful fluidity that manages to slam Jim’s erection into him with a devastating efficiency. Spock’s hand grasps bruisingly at his hips, and as Jim begins to shout and pulse, Spock drags himself horizontal to press his mouth into Jim’s, sliding his tongue softly between his lips as his body slams punishingly down, finally spouting a wet heat onto his chest as Jim slides gloriously into subspace.

 He surfaces lightly as he feels fingers releasing his bindings and wiping him off, and manages to collect himself enough to smile hazily, unable to lift an eyelid. A sheet is pulled over him, and he reaches instinctively out, threading a hand through a head of dark silken hair. He caresses a pointed ear, and as he’s going under, can feel the press of Spock’s smile on the skin above his heart.


End file.
